


New Born

by lesnuffles



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 07:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2059854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesnuffles/pseuds/lesnuffles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can I come over? SH</p>
<p>At 1:30 AM? VT<br/>Of course you can. VT</p>
<p>Victor's bedroom was warm and messy and excessively small, but it was the only place Sherlock wanted to be in that moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Born

**Author's Note:**

> Entrance for the _Viclock Gift Exchange_.  
>  For **marcal-92** , enjoy your reading!

_Can I come over? SH_

_At 1:30 AM? VT_  
Of course you can. VT

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to slow down his heart rate. He slipped his mobile back into his pocket, but it took him a few moments before he was able to stand up from the bench.

The breeze was cold that night and gave him chills. When he’d rushed out of the house, the last thing he’d been able to think of was to take his coat with him. It was stupid of him, but it was too late anyway. It wasn’t like he could walk back in and grab one.

When Sherlock finally opened his eyes again, he started to walk. Luckily, Victor’s house wasn’t too far away, because he didn’t have the money for a cab or even the bus. He’d made the journey so many times that he could walk it with his eyes closed, and that was good, because he really needed to focus on something besides the one thing occupying his mind.

And still, all the night’s events kept echoing in his head. His father’s yelling, his mother’s shock, and Mycroft, his arms crossed with raised eyebrows—and then Sherlock turning his back, grabbing a backpack and running away.

His mother screamed his name as he slammed the door behind him.

He arrived at Victor’s place only a few minutes later, and he hesitated a moment in front of the door. Victor was already awake, of course—the answered text and light coming from his bedroom were easy enough indicators. Sherlock didn’t ring the bell; he took his mobile from his pocket and sent a quick text, his hands still shaking slightly.

_I am here. SH_

Sherlock could almost hear Victor running down the stairs, and the front door opened almost immediately. Victor—wearing only a loose t-shirt and boxers, his hair messy, probably just crashed on his bed when he arrived home—rubbed his eyes sleepily.

“Sher, what happe—God, Sherlock, are you crying? What...”

Sherlock didn’t reply. Before he could gather a sensible answer, he felt the sudden urge to bury his face in Victor’s chest. So he did, grabbing Victor’s back as if the entire world were losing its gravity and he were the last handhold. The words fell out of Sherlock’s mouth in incoherent bits and pieces.

“...I c-couldn’t do it anymore, Victor, I—it’s just Father and his w-work and—”

“Sherlock, what—shh. Shh, love, it’s alright, yes? I’m here. It’s alright.”

Victor gently patted his hair, kissing the top of his head until Sherlock’s breathing returned to its normal pace. Even then, his fingers kept running through his curls in a way that was both comforting and relaxing. Sherlock stood there for longer than necessary before finally looking up.

Victor didn’t ask for an explanation, something Sherlock was extremely thankful for. He just offered a smile. “Let’s go up to my bedroom, yes?”

Sherlock nodded in silence. He gripped Victor’s hand tightly as they climbed the stair.

Victor opened the door to the flat, and as soon as Sherlock slipped in, he felt incredibly better. It was warm and messy, and it felt more familiar than his own home had ever felt. Finally, though, they reached the bedroom.

Sherlock climbed onto the bed, Victor not far behind. He sat cross-legged and leaned his back against the wall, invited Sherlock onto his lap. Sherlock took full advantage, cuddling closely, and Victor started petting his hair again, slowly, softly.

“So what happened, Sher?” he eventually asked in a low voice.

Sherlock paused a few seconds before replying, contemplating where to start. He finally decided, and muttered: “I ran away from home.” It was the basic information. He glanced at Victor to gauge his reaction, but he was still relaxed and quiet, so Sherlock went on.

“And… I mean it, this time. I… Father and I argued. Again. He still wants me to take his stupid job and go into politics like Mycroft, and he found out I applied for the chemistry thing at Bart’s, and he told me it’s stupid and useless and that I should have—that I should follow his footsteps, and that he was already ashamed of me because of the—because of rehab.”

Sherlock’s voice gradually became lower and lower. His gaze was fixed on the sheets in front of him. He still wanted to talk, but he felt like the moment he looked at Victor, he’d stop feeling like venting.

 “And I tried—you know I tried—to do as he told me, to go through with that internship, but it bored me to death, Victor, and I’m really not good at that stuff—Mycroft is. I’m really—and I told him all that, and he got angry and said I was stupid and I didn’t know anything and if that was the issue, I’d better leave and never come back again, and I told him I just might and he laughed because—because he said I couldn’t live a week without him cleaning up my… my messes, and I—I got angry. I took my things, and now… Victor, I can’t go back, and I… I…”

Sherlock took a deep breath. He could feel the panic rising again in his chest, and he knew his eyes were watery again. He hid his face in Victor’s shirt, and the familiar, close, comforting scent made him instantly feel a bit better.

Victor held him tightly, and Sherlock sighed as the last tears ran down his face. After a few minutes, he was calm again, and only then did he raise his head and straighten up a bit. Victor moved a lock of his hair from his forehead with a smile.

“You listen to me now, okay? We’re going to fix all of this. First off, you won’t have to go back to that place. You’ll move in here with me.”

“Can... can I?” Sherlock asked, looking up, his eyes bright with hope.

Victor smiled again. “Of course you can. I mean, it’s not big, and it might be a bit tight, but we’ll make do. I earn enough at my job to keep us alive until you settle down again.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Secondly, screw your father. What do _you_ want to do?”

Sherlock sniffled. “I want to be a detective.”

Victor chuckled.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just… the way you said it. The same way I’d say—oh, I dunno—‘I want to be a secret agent.’ The only difference, though, is that you can actually be a great detective. I’d be a disaster at MI6. Probably accidentally launch a missile or something.”

Sherlock smirked. “But I _will_ be a detective. The best one.”

“I know you will, Bee. London will be the safest it’s ever been with you around.” Victor kissed his forehead. “And I’ll help you with that. Bit of advertising to find your first clients, and then the rumors will spread as soon as they see how brilliant you are.”

 “Mn.” Sherlock already felt better. It seemed all his fears and doubts were quite dull, after all. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Sher,” Victor said, gently pressing his lips against Sherlock’s. “And we’re going to make it through this. I was planning to ask you to move in, anyway.”

“Oh, were you?” Sherlock kissed Victor back. It felt nice, and good, and incredibly… right.

“Yep. As soon as you promise not to destroy anything,” Victor added with a grin. “Can’t turn my kitchen into a lab, or something else your ridiculous mind comes up with.”

Sherlock kissed him again, then focused his attention on Victor’s neck, sucking the soft skin tenderly. “Can I have half of the fridge, though?”

Victor rested his head on Sherlock’s shoulders and closed his eyes. “One shelf.”

Sherlock grinned. He gently bit the raised red bump that was just starting to form. “Half,” he repeated. He could almost feel Victor melt into his hands, and he smiled even wider.

“Damn,” Victor mumbled. “I’d give you the whole thing, if you asked me that way.”

Somehow, they ended up without clothes, making love under the covers of Victor’s bed—which was too small and creaked excessively, but it was the only place Sherlock wanted to be in that moment.

It was already dawn when they were too tired to do anything else and lied next to each other, still exchanging sleepy smiles over the first morning rays. Sherlock’s voice was not much more than a whisper.

“We’ll be fine, you and me, won’t we?” 

Victor entwined their fingers, fiddling with them a bit as he smiled. “We will. We’ll start all over again, a life just the way we want it. Just the two of us. And it will be perfect..”

And Sherlock, for once, believed it.


End file.
